The Deputy - Edge Series 2 (8 page)

‘He ain’t here but I guess Deputy Straker will take it. And he’ll pass it on to the sheriff when he gets back from – ‘

45

A rapid shaking of the head as the grin was displaced by a look of intense concentration, like the boy was having to drag something from deep within his memory. Then: ‘No, sir. I ain’t allowed to do that. I gotta give the message to the sheriff. Or if I can’t do that, then I gotta give it to you, Mr Edge.’

Edge looked up and down the length of Main Street, which was a little busier than earlier. But nobody was paying any attention to him and the boy at the mouth at the mouth of the alley.

Bob Frank said proudly: ‘I guess you’re trying to figure out how I knowed you was him? Ain’t that right, Mr Edge? Seeing as how you’re a stranger to these parts and I didn’t oughta know you from Adam?’

‘I’m curious about the whole thing, kid.’

‘See, I was told already Sheriff North was outta town.’ He gestured across the street. ‘Mr Otis over there? When I asked him if somebody called Mr Edge was around, he said he’d seen him go into the law office. So I come over here and I waited for you to come out.’

Edge looked around more carefully now and saw that the ugly old timer with the added misfortune to be at the beck and call of the domineering guesthouse keeper had finished his morning dishwashing chore. Now was seated on one of two benches that flanked the closed double doors of the two story, frame built Dancing Horse Saloon across the street.

Logan realised he was the subject of talk and raised a hand fisted around a walking cane to acknowledge his awareness of this.

‘Pretty smart, uh?’ Bob Frank said.

‘Sure was, kid,’ Edge allowed absently. ‘So what’s the message?’

Fortunately it had not been given by word of mouth and the boy delved into the front pocket of his dungarees to produce an envelope. Then he backed off two steps so he had to reach out at arm’s length to hand it to Edge.

‘There you go, mister. Ten cents to get this to the sheriff or you before noon. And I done that like I said I would. With plenty of time to spare, I reckon?’

‘No sweat,’ Edge confirmed as he looked at the creased and dirt-smudged envelope that could hold only one or two sheets of paper.

‘I can go now I done what I was told to, Mr Edge? I got a whole heap of chores to do for my pa back at the farm.’

‘Be obliged if you’d wait awhile.’ Edge used a forefinger to tear open the flap of the envelope.

46

The boy swallowed hard and looked afraid as he blurted: ‘Why I gotta do that, Mr Edge? The gents that give me the ten cents didn’t say nothing about waiting around after I give the message to – ‘

Edge drew out a single sheet of paper, unfolded it and raised his head to briefly show the nervous youngster a grin. ‘Be worth another ten cents to you, kid.’

Fear was displaced by a broad smile as the boy nodded emphatically and then waited patiently for the message to be read. It was printed in block capitals in pencil by the same hand as the note left with the rifles and gunbelts on the trail last night.
SHERIFF NORTH OR MR EDGE. YOU WILL COME TO THE

OLD BRADY PLACE ON CREEK ROAD AT PRECISELY NINE

O’CLOCK THIS WEDNESDAY NIGHT. THERE YOU WILL

LEARN SOMETHING TO YOUR ADVANTAGE. EITHER ONE

OF YOU MUST COME ALONE OR THE DEAL IS DONE WITH.

AT PRESENT THE LADY IS NOT HARMED.

Bob Frank shuffled his ill-shod feet and asked anxiously: ‘I got to do anything but wait around to get that other ten cents, mister?’

Edge realised he must have taken a long time to read and reflect on the note from the abductors of Isabella Gomez. And when he looked up it was clear he was no longer showing any sign of the former easy smile. For the boy was nervous again and he even backed off a couple more paces: seemed on the point of whirling around to lunge into the alley.

So he sought to calm the youngster when he put the note back into the envelope and grinned as he assured: ‘Easy, Bob Frank. Here.’

He dug into a pocket, withdrew some coins, picked out two nickels and showed them in his palm. ‘The money I promised you, kid. You get it anyway. But I sure would like to know how you came by the message? Who it was that gave it to you?’

The boy held back from taking the money while he frowned and chewed his lower lip, obviously struggling to cast his confused mind back into the recent past. Then he nodded twice when he hit on the memory he sought.

‘Sure thing, Mr Edge. I remember it now. We was out digging a ditch where the east trail runs by our place. And these two Mexicans rode up to where we was working. Real polite they was. Pa said after they’d gone that he hoped I’d turn out like them when I got to be their age. See, I’m only just turned fifteen now.’

‘Did you pa know these two Mexicans?’

47

‘No, sir. Pa, he was a little leery of them when we first seen them riding up toward the place. Strangers packing guns and they looked like they could be trouble, pa said when they still weren’t close enough to hear him.’

The boy’s attention wandered away from the man’s chest and Edge prompted:

‘Then, when they got closer, Bob Frank?’

‘Yeah. They turned out to be real nice gents. Said they was in a hurry to get back to where they’d fixed up to meet some other folks over in the hill country. And they said they’d give a dollar to pa if him or me would bring the message into Bishopsburg.’

‘Get it delivered here before noon you said, kid?’

Another of his emphatic nods. ‘Yeah. Well, pa said we’d be glad to help them out. That I’d run the errand for them and that just ten cents was payment enough for such an easy chore.’

He frowned again as he lost the thread of what he was saying, doubtless resentful of the cut in payment negotiated by his father. Then he grimaced briefly and shrugged as he went on without any encouragement from Edge:

‘And that’s about it, I guess. They said good morning in the Mexican lingo and turned around and rode off back east into the hills. And pa said for me to saddle up the pony and come to town. Which is what I done. Right away. Ain’t no more to tell about it, seems to me. Except the two Mexicans said I was sure to give the message to no one else but the sheriff. Or if not him, then to you, Mr Edge.’

‘You’ve done a good job, Bob Frank,’ Edge said as he thrust out the cupped palm holding the coins. ‘Reckon this ten cents goes a little way to make up for what your pa lost you on the deal?’

The tall and skinny youngster grinned. ‘Sure does. I’m real grateful to you, sir.’

He took the money, dropped it into his dungarees pocket and hesitated, a question in his blue, shining with excitement eyes.

‘Something else, Bob Frank?’

‘You gonna be around Bishopsburg for awhile, Mr Edge?’

‘I’m not sure about that yet.’

‘Well, sir, if you are and there’s ever anything I can do for you, you let me know. I’m mostly at the farm. Two miles out along Mossman Road. And if pa can spare me, I’ll be real happy to give you a hand with anything you want done, sir.’

Edge nodded. ‘I’ll keep in mind what you’ve said, kid.’

The boy tipped his battered hat, spun on his heels and came out of the mouth of the alley, half ran across the front of the law office and around the corner on to Mossman Road. 48

A few minutes later, while Edge pondered the situation created by the note from the Mexicans, aware of the curious gaze directed fixedly toward him by Otis Logan, the door of the law office swung open and Ted Straker stepped out.

The deputy paused in his intention to cross the street: surprised to see Edge was still nearby and misunderstood his reason for being there with the envelope in his hand.

‘The telegraph office don’t ever open until nine thirty, mister.’

‘No sweat.’

‘Oh, okay.’ He shrugged and moved across the street. Heading for the saloon that had only just opened for business, the outer double doors folded back to either side of the batwings.

Straker halted on the threshold of the Dancing Horse, to listen to what Otis Logan had to tell him: and hand gestures by the old timer and glances from the deputy signalled to Edge that this time he was the subject of an exchange.

Then Straker turned away and pushed in through the swing doors of the saloon. Reemerged less than a minute later, a steaming mug in each hand. Edge went toward the saloon and met the deputy halfway across the broad width of Main Street.

‘The Carters never have hired on outside help that I know about,’ Straker said, obviously fishing for information. ‘Vera Carter is as hard working as Frank in the fields and with the stock. And with that simple minded son of theirs to lend a hand, the three of them can take care of just about everything that needs to be done around the place.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind, feller,’ Edge told the man gripping two mugs of good smelling coffee, then headed toward the saloon. Was halted again, this time by the old timer hunched on the bench beside the entrance of the building that had seen better days and was in sore need of maintenance.

‘Guess you figured out for yourself that the Carter kid ain’t none too bright, son?’

‘The boy did what he was asked to,’ Edge growled, disconcertingly aware of how he was starting to get irritated by the way Logan kept referring to him as
son.

‘He give you a letter, it appeared to me?’ There was a crafty glint in the old man’s weak looking brown eyes as he tightly gripped the metal knob of his cane with both liver spotted hands.

‘You saw it right.’

‘That’s what I told Ted Straker he did. Seemed to me you didn’t show Ted what was in the letter?’

‘He didn’t ask.’

49

Logan shook his head, looking rueful. ‘That’s the reason why Ted won’t ever make sheriff from deputy if ever George North decided to quit the post. That young man just ain’t curious enough and he ain’t at all pushy.’

‘You practising to be sheriff, feller?’

‘What?’ Logan looked perplexed for a moment, then scowled as he defended: ‘It just seems kinda funny to me, son. A stranger like you getting a letter. Especially one delivered by that lame brained Carter kid who ain’t hardly ever allowed by his pa to come into town. Only natural a man’s gonna be curious about that.’

Edge nodded, not a trace of humour in the glittering slits of his hooded eyes as he said: ‘I’ve mostly found that in small towns like Bishopsburg it sure seems to come natural for about everyone to mind everyone else’s business, old timer.’

He tipped his hat to the sour faced Logan and stepped into the saloon. Saw the interior was as rundown as the ill cared for façade suggested it would be: with a short bar counter running part way along the rear wall and some chair ringed tables that took up most of the floor space in front. With the exception of an area around a piano that was set at an angle at the right hand end of the counter.

This was presumably where Rose Riley was paid to provide free public entertainment so she could afford to pick and choose the men she entertained in a different way for a price in private.

At this early hour Edge was the only customer in the place that seemed to have been superficially cleaned since it was last open. For there were just faint traces of stale tobacco smoke, liquor and sweat in the slightly soap scented atmosphere. The man behind the counter, who was short, paunchy, fifty some, newly shaved and cleanly dressed, showed a broken toothed smile as he greeted:

‘Howdy, stranger. And welcome to the Dancing Horse. The name’s Jake Carr and it’ll be my pleasure to serve you with whatever’s your pleasure, sir.’

‘Did the deputy empty the coffee pot?’

‘No, there’s plenty left. Coming right up. Fresh made not ten minutes ago.’

Edge waited at the counter for the coffee to be brought from a room out back, paid for it and went to sit at a table from where he could look out through a smeared and dusty window across the street toward the law office.

Carr, having delivered the welcoming speech that had a tone of being over used, settled back into a kind of neutral contentment. Took up a position at the centre of the counter and peered into space, ignoring his lone customer who made it clear he was not in a talkative frame of mind.

50

Some fifteen minutes later when the only sounds in the saloon was the intermittent buzzing of a fly and the monotonously regular ticking of a well clock, the timepiece struck ten off key times.

When the marking of the hour ended Otis Logan entered the place and bore down heavily on his cane with every step as he crossed to the counter. Halted where Carr, without being asked, had set up a shot glass and a bottle of rye. The homely featured, grey haired old man poured his own drink, began to sip it like it was high priced liquor and then he and Carr started a discussion about Washington politics with regard to how they affected the state of Texas.

Edge ignored them as they did him while nobody else came in off the street that remained quietly busy with people and an occasional wagon but was never bustling. The clock on the wall had struck once more to mark ten thirty and Edge was halfway through a second cup of coffee, had finished smoking a first cigarette of the day when George North rode the piebald up to the law office, dismounted and hitched the reins to the rail.

He was inside for perhaps three minutes while Edge took his time with the coffee. And Carr and Logan, having seen the sheriff return, altered the subject of their conversation to the killings at the Bellamy farm.

Then the law office door opened and the tall, powerfully built but running to fat North strode purposefully toward the Dancing Horse.